The Velvet Box
by Monker
Summary: Skye discovers something shocking in Coulson's desk drawer. When she confronts him about it later, he reveals a tragic story no one was prepared to hear. Spoiler: Minor reference to events from episode 3 "The Asset." Now a Multi-Chapter story. Coulson/Cellist pairing.
1. The Velvet Box

My first go at an Agent's of SHIELD story. It's been a while since I've tackled the world of fanfiction, so I'm anxious to know what you think. Review it or not, but either way, I hope you enjoy my little story!

Minor mention of Season One, Episode Three: The Asset. Not much of a spoiler, though. Decent spoiler for The Avengers, but then, this entire show is a spoiler for The Avengers. So I'm not too worried about that. Skye is still very new to the team here, so you could figure this story takes place sometime shortly after The Asset.

Okay, deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

* * *

"Which pocket?" Simmons asked, dangling the field pack from its handle and rotating it back and forth, examining the many pouches and zippers.

"Front," came Fitz' absent-minded reply. He was bent over his magnifying glass, meticulously trying to apply one tiny piece of machinery to another. His hands were perfectly calm as he manipulated the tweezers.

Simmons opened the pocket and reached inside, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at the vial. It continued to steam, and the fumes coming off of it were already starting to turn a soft shade of green. She dug around the pocket impatiently and finally huffed in frustration. "It's not in here," she said.

"I said, 'front pocket,'" Fitz restated, not looking up from his project.

"Fitz! How many front pockets do you think there are? I looked in the front pocket, and the key's not there! Where did you have it last?"

Fitz rolled his eyes and sighed as he gingerly set down his tweezers and walked over to Simmons. "I had it last in _this_ pocket. Exactly as I said," he snapped, jerking the field pack away from his partner and reaching his hand into the front pocket.

Simmons just crossed her arms expectantly.

Fitz' brows lowered in confusion. "Well...where is it?" he said to himself, holding the pocket open and looking inside. He started pulling several small items out from the pack and placing them on the silver worktable.

Simmons smirked in satisfaction as Fitz struggled to find the key. Then, remembering her plight, she looked over at the vial again. "Oh, _Fitz_!" she exclaimed, rushing over to her work station in a worried fit. "This material is highly unstable. The reactor charge to the hydraulic equilibrium is _much_ too over-stimulated. It needs a pacifier substance, _now_. Where is the key to the cabinet?"

"I don't know," Fitz responded in earnest, emptying every pocket in his field pack. "It was here just the other day!"

Skye, who had been keeping quiet on the other side of the room, looked up from her laptop when she heard the voices around her grow in desperation. Also, hearing Simmons ask for a pacifier for her experiment put pictures of vials and beakers sucking on baby pacifiers in Skye's head, which made her laugh a little on the inside.

"What's going on?" the hactivist asked.

The two scientists ignored the question and continued to search for a solution.

"Maybe it's in your trouser pockets."

"Wouldn't be in these ones," Fitz said as he checked his pockets anyway. "I haven't been in the chemical cabinet all day."

Simmons looked back at the vial. It was starting to foam now. She turned the heater to the off position. She hated cutting off the experiment that way, but she wasn't willing to risk having the substance overflow. Turning off the heat might not actually keep that from happening, but it might slow the process at least. "Quickly, Fitz. Think!"

"I _am_ thinking!" the Scotsman said, beginning to pace back and forth in the laboratory, clutching his head with both hands.

"Is there not a spare key somewhere?" Skye offered.

"Yes!" Fitz spun around and pointed directly at her. "Agent Coulson. He has-"

"-a master key," Simmons finished. "Brilliant! It opens everything on this bus. It should be in his desk. Fitz!"

But he was already headed for the door. "Right," he said, "on it!"

Just then, the bus hit some turbulence and jostled everyone slightly. Fitz practically dove towards his worktable to keep his machinery from falling off and scattering across the floor.

Skye took that as her cue. "No, _I'm_ on it," she said, putting her laptop down and hastening towards the door.

"Thank you, Skye!" Simmons called. "And hurry!"

Skye took the stairs heading up to Coulson's office two at a time. She did stop at the door and gave a few fervent knocks, just in case he was inside. When she didn't receive an answer, she just went in.

The office was empty. She had been in that room only twice before, and the first time, she didn't even get to go in all the way. The elegant design and soft lighting made the room feel cold and inviting at the same time. Hesitantly, she walked fully into the room. She felt like a kid breaking into her high school principal's office, like Coulson was going to come in any minute and suspend her or something.

But she also remembered how desperate FitzSimmons were to have that key, so she quickly made her way to the large wooden desk at the back of the room. Stubbing her toe slightly on the edge of the desk, she cursed quietly and fell into the chair, almost knocking over Coulson's aircraft model in the process. She straightened a few of the items she had disturbed and quietly started rummaging through the desk.

When she opened the second drawer, she halted with a quiet gasp. A few small objects came sliding forward to the front of the drawer, one of which was the ring of keys. But that wasn't what had shocked her.

Slowly, timidly, she reached into the desk and pulled out a small, black, velvet box.

She turned it over in her hands, examining it, wondering if it might not be what she obviously thought it was, wondering if she could resist the urge to open it and find out.

She couldn't.

Glancing up at the door to make sure the coast was clear, Skye silently cracked open the box. Again, her breath caught in her throat when she saw the ring inside. It was a beautiful, princess cut diamond, resting in a four-pronged white-gold setting. The band was simple apart from a delicate braiding that reached up to cradle the precious stone. The diamond was radiant and colorless, casting a shimmering reflection of light across Skye's neck. It was simple yet exquisite, and probably cost Agent Coulson a pretty penny.

With that thought, Skye snapped the box closed again. A sickening feeling crawled around in her stomach as she suddenly felt like she had just read someone's diary. She had just snooped into what was probably Coulson's most privately intimate possession on this plane, and the resulting sensation was one of guilt and regret.

She carefully put the box back in the drawer, retrieved the keys, and then returned the desk to the way she had found it. But even as she handed the keys to a grateful Simmons a few moments later, she couldn't shake the image of that gorgeous ring from her mind.

It wasn't until a few days later that Skye realized what bothered her so much about seeing the ring. It wasn't just the fact that she felt guilty and had a hard time looking Coulson in the face after that. It also brought to mind something Ian Quinn had said while she was undercover at his party. He said that SHIELD targeted recruits who were unconnected, alone and without families to tie them down. If that were true, then it seemed a little hypocritical for one of their top agents to be pursuing marital bliss with some mystery bride.

Skye herself never really had much of a family, but that wasn't really to say that she never _wanted_ one. Underneath that tough, I-can-do-anything exterior of a rogue computer hacker who was used to lonely nights in a crummy van, there was still a part of Skye that liked the idea of a strong husband and a few adorable children. If SHIELD was interested in cutting that kind of life off for their subordinate personnel, then maybe she should rethink her dedication to joining this little group.

"What does SHIELD policy say about family?" she asked suddenly. The question had been plaguing her for the past several days and she was ready for a solid answer. Since the whole team happened to be assembled in the eating quarters for a rare moment, she thought now would be the perfect time to ask.

Ward looked up from his reading with a cocked eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean: what does SHIELD think about their agents getting married and having kids and stuff like that." She looked discretely over at Coulson as she asked the question, but the senior agent didn't seem to flinch as he spread some peanut butter onto a piece of toast.

Ward, on the other hand, looked caught off guard and more than a little uncomfortable by the mention of marriage and children. "It's generally discouraged, but not totally forbidden," he said simply.

"But why's it discouraged at all? Seems kind of harmless to me," she said, glancing over at Fitz and Simmons for moral support. But the two scientists stayed silent.

Agent Malinda May spoke up as she sat down, "Having emotional connections to something like a family is a huge liability for an agent. Bullets and punches are only a few of the ways our enemies try to take us down. Hostiles love to target the innocent, especially when those innocents are the loved-ones of an operative. Even when a physical injury won't be able to ground an agent, emotional and psychological injuries incurred from the death of a family member can often take someone out of the field. Our enemies know this."

"Not to mention," Ward added, "opening yourself up for romantic connections is the easiest way to be compromised as an agent. The first strategy in any covert take-down is always to form a personal connection with your target. Every agent is on high alert when on the job, but on a date, those defenses fall a lot more easily. You'd be surprised how many good agents have been compromised because they got involved with the wrong person. As 'harmless' as they may seem, you never know who you can trust."

"So, what," Skye replied, "there's some sort of celibacy clause in the fine print of SHIELD recruitment forms? Families are just off limits?"

"Like I said, it's not official, but it's discouraged."

"Well, it sounds more like a monastery than a government organization," she said, clearly unhappy with this answer.

"They're right, though," Coulson finally said. "We operate in a very dangerous and high profile environment on a daily basis. Having a family complicates that and puts an agent's own emotional stability as risk. If you want to be a SHILED agent, it's a factor you need to consider. This life isn't very compatible with dating and marriage."

Skye couldn't help but scoff, "Says the man who's about to propose." The words were out of her mouth before she even realized they left her head. As if in a choreographed movement, five pairs of eyebrows leapt towards the ceiling. Slowly, Ward, May, and FitzSimmons all looked from the hacker over to their commanding officer. Skye flung her own hand over her mouth in shock.

Coulson merely squinted at her in confusion. "What?" he asked, ignoring the stunned expressions coming at him from his entire team.

Skye sighed, clearly needing to offer some sort of explanation. She knew 'never mind' wouldn't cut it at this point. "The other day," she began sheepishly, "FitzSimmons needed a key out of your desk, so I went to go find it."

It took a second, and Coulson glanced away slightly in thought; but just a whisper of a moment later, realization dawned on Coulson's features and he suddenly snapped his attention back onto Skye. The shock was evident on his face.

"I found a ring in your desk drawer," she went on. It was mostly just to clarify for the others in the room, because the look in Coulson's eyes told Skye he already knew exactly what she had seen.

The muscles in Coulson's jaw clenched and he looked away from the group suddenly, standing to take his recently used butter knife to the sink. He turned on the water and started scrubbing the peanut butter from the blade.

"It looked like an engagement ring."

Coulson turned his head slightly in acknowledgement of Skye's words, but he didn't turn around. Not yet. He just kept scrubbing, clearly buying time before he would have to answer her accusation. Everyone else waited quietly and watched the peculiar actions of their leader. When the knife was washed, dried, and put away in its drawer, Coulson finally turned around to face his team again.

He placed both hands on the cool surface of the table and sighed. "You should have asked me for the key," he said quietly, "I could have gotten it for you."

Skye grimaced at the soft tone of defeat and sadness in his voice. She should have never opened that drawer. Any explosion that happened in the lab would have been worth it if it meant that Coulson wouldn't be looking at her with those cool, disappointed eyes right now. "I'm really sorry," she said at last, meaning every word of it.

Again, Coulson sighed as he retook his seat, shoving the plate of toast gently away. "What you saw was, in fact, an engagement ring. I do not, however, have any intention of proposing with it anytime soon. It's..." his brow furrowed, "Well...it's something of a leftover. From a past relationship."

"You guys broke up?" Skye found herself asking. She glanced over at Ward and received a silent shake of the head, the kind that meant 'quit while you're ahead, kid.'

But Coulson didn't seem to balk at the question. "Not exactly. Things were good." A small smile tugged at his lips from the memory. "They were very good, in fact. And I think she would have married me when I asked her. I had the night all planned out." Something happened then, and Coulson's gaze was taken somewhere far away.

No one budged. No one breathed. They let the silence draw out as long as Coulson needed it to. They waited while that unspoken memory flashed before his eyes like an old film reel. The whole team wanted to know what had happened, how it had all been ruined; but the look from Ward had effectively shut their mouth-piece. So everyone simply waited in silence, seeing if Coulson would continue on his own.

He did.

When he was able to pull himself free from whatever rapturous memory had taken him, Coulson glanced around the room. "Then work called me away. Code Orange with Project Pegasus, which escalated quickly," he said simply. "And, well..." Coulson looked at Skye with a sad smile. "She wasn't level seven."

"Wait, so..." surprisingly, this interjection came from Ward. "She still thinks you're dead?"

Coulson nodded. "She has to. She's a civilian and wasn't cleared to know about most of what my job entailed. There were a lot of people who died during the Battle of New York and, as far as she's concerned, I was one of them. After my recovery, SHIELD couldn't stand the risk that news of my survival might make it back to the Avengers or anyone else without the clearance to know, so I was reassigned to a mobile operation that would keep me moving and away from ties to the past."

Skye shook her head in disbelief. "But, that's not fair. You haven't been allowed to see her to talk to her or anything? She still has no idea?"

Coulson offered another sad smile. "Being with her now is more dangerous than it used to be. We would never be able to go back to the way things were before I was wounded. It's better for her if she just thinks I'm gone."

Coulson paused for a long time and his jaw clenched again. For a second, Skye wondered if he might actually cry. But after taking a few moments to compose himself, Coulson finished. "I'd rather know she's moving on with her life than imagine her constantly waiting for me to come home. Especially since I know that can never happen... It's for the best."

The last four words were delivered with more of a tremor in his voice than Coulson would have liked. He grabbed the, now cold, piece of toast and stood from the table. He couldn't stay there any longer. He needed to get out from under the melancholy gazes of his team. He needed to be alone.

"So, in my experience, Skye," he said before exiting, "love is a risky game to play in this line of work. You have to measure the pain against the joy. Decide if it's worth it."

Coulson walked around the table and started heading out the door. All the remaining team members were left motionless and in deep thought. Their chief officer had never been so vulnerable with them before, never shared anything so private. They were both honored that he would be so free with them, and somber at what he had shared. Everyone felt they ought to say something to him, but no one had words they could say. No one, that is, except for Skye.

Right before the senior agent was totally gone, Skye asked, "So is it?"

Agent Coulson halted in the doorway.

Skye turned in her seat to look at the agent's hung head and tense shoulders. "Is it worth it?"

A moment ticked by. Coulson sighed once more and then lifted his head. Without a word, he simply walked forward and let the door swing silently closed behind him.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a review!

Author's Note: credits for the image used in the cover photo go to The Pioneer Woman, aka Ree.

Another Author's Note: I am, in no way, a science person. So Simmons' jargon in this story is entirely made up and, if it sounds ridiculous, I'm really sorry.


	2. Who was she?

Hello everyone! While originally this story was just supposed to be a oneshot, enough of you showed interest in it and subscribed that I felt comfortable adding to it a bit. There will likely be at least one more chapter after this. After that, we'll see.

This chapter picks up immediately where the last left off. I have decided to bring up the timeline slightly to have the story take place sometime after Season One, Episode Four, "Eye Spy." Mostly, this is just so that I can have Skye refer to Coulson as AC. That's honestly the only reason for it.

Also, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE read the Author's Note at the end of this chapter. It is extremely important. But for now, onto the chapter!

Deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

* * *

After a while, things returned to normal as everyone continued their respective meals and Fitz and Ward struck up a conversation. Skye was noticeably silent after Coulson's exit. The head agent usually had such a calm and blasé attitude about most things, even when encountering gods and aliens. But talking about this mystery woman, suddenly something appeared in Coulson's eyes that Skye had never seen there before: vulnerability. She was entrapped by wondering who this woman could have possibly been, to break through that ever-composed, ever-unfazed exterior of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best man.

Slipping away from the conversation unnoticed, Skye left the kitchen and instantly saw the senior agent sitting at the bar in the main living area. That bar was one of her favorite features of the bus. She and Ward had made good use of it many times already, and she had even seen Agents May and FitzSimmons enjoy a few drinks from it. But she had never seen Agent Coulson avail himself of the many brands of liquor behind that bar. She had just assumed that AC must not be much of a drinker, but now she stood corrected.

She approached him slowly, not wanting to scare him off again, and watched as he topped off his own glass of brandy. She came to stand beside him, knowing that he must be aware of her presence by now.

Truth is, he was. But he pretended not to notice her. He wanted her to go away, but he wasn't feeling abrasive enough to come right out and say it.

Skye settled into the seat next to him. "So," she said gently, swiveling the chair around so she could lean back and rest her elbows on the bar behind her. He still didn't make eye contact. "What was her name?"

Something pinched in Coulson's heart at the sound of the question. He couldn't shake the image of the woman's face from his mind, and the blissful sensation that image once evoked was now a dark imitation of its former self. A beautiful, but simmering pain. He grimaced at the feeling and sent another dosage of alcohol down his throat. "What difference does it make?" he asked bitterly, lowering the glass to the bar.

Skye paused slightly after that response. She wondered if she should take the obvious hint and just leave the man alone. But, Skye had never been very good at giving up. She retrieved a coaster from its holder and slid it across the bar, tapping it lightly against the base of Coulson's glass.

Coulson stared at the coaster, fighting so hard to stay in his melancholy mood. But then he glanced up to meet Skye's soft smile, and his own common smirk soon found its place again. "Alys," he answered quietly, placing his glass onto the coaster. "Alys Simon." Just saying the name was like having a warm, familiar breeze wash over his face. He hated it and loved it at the same time.

Skye smiled softly at the sound of rapture in his voice. That was an invitation, right? She could ask another question? She decided to bet on it. "What was she like?" It was vague, but it turned out to be the only prompt he needed.

Now it was Coulson's turn to smile. "She was..." He shook his head lightly as every possible description flooded his mind and was instantly discarded for failure to do justice. How could he answer that? "God," he exclaimed, covering his eyes with one hand and holding it there for a few seconds, before dragging it down his face. He tried again. "She was...beautiful. And funny," his smile grew. "She used to tell this story about when she was a little girl and her parents bought her a couch for her birthday." He shook his head and laughed.

"A _couch_?" Skye repeated, smirking with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah," he replied, the pitch of his voice higher than usual due to his laughter. "It was hysterical. But she told it better than I could." He chuckled a few more times before letting the moment pass.

"So, what else?" Skye asked, loving getting to see this side of her boss.

Coulson's brows arched as he inhaled, rotating the glass of brandy on the coaster. "Well, she was a musician. Played the cello. Listening to her play was like..." again, he shook his head as words failed him. "It touched you, you know? More so than music usually can. It sounded fresh and rejuvenating, but...ancient at the same time. Like...like if the oldest, most vibrant tree in the world could sing, it would sound like Alys on the cello."

Skye's eyes lit up at the description, and her smile steadily grew to cover even more of her face. "Wow, AC, you're a poet," she teased, slapping his shoulder lightly.

Coulson just shrugged with a smile. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed talking about Alys, but the conversation was quickly growing on him. "She was small, but feisty. Had enough sass to go toe-to-toe with Stark if she ever wanted to." A small pause. "She was an awful cook, though. I mean, really, _really_ bad. She caught one of my dish rags on fire just trying to boil water. I taught her how to make macaroni and cheese once and she thought I was some genius chef," he smirked at the memory. "She loved cookies. But, she wouldn't bite into them. She just, tore off little bite-sized pieces and ate those. It was really cute."

Skye was pretty sure that was the first time she ever heard the word "cute" come out of his mouth. But something about the way he said it was very endearing. "Was she smart?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he said, scowling and giving a small shake of the head. His motion didn't seem to negate his answer though, only punctuate it. "She was incredibly smart. We would have trivia tournaments against each other all the time, usually while driving, mostly about World War Two. She was really smart. And...shrewd. She never missed a thing."

His expression darkened slightly as he raised the glass to his lips again. "She had so many questions. I could see it in her eyes. She wondered about my job. A lot. I would disappear for weeks at a time, and then come home, completely exhausted, sometimes sporting a few new scars and some fresh bruises. And she would notice every one of them. I think she kept a count in her head."

Skye looked from the agent's distant eyes down to his cleanly cut suit. It occurred to her that she had never seen Coulson in anything but his trademark two piece suit. The man always looked so dapper and well kempt, more like a banker than a secret agent. Even with the few times she had seen him in action, Coulson had managed little more than to wrinkle his jacket and loosen his tie. And yet, seeing the darkness in his eyes now, she didn't doubt that he had many scars hidden beneath those layers of wool and cotton, and she was equally sure that each one of them came with its own demons.

Unaware of any running internal commentary from Skye, Coulson's own thoughts were fixed on a single memory: the deep concentration in Alys' eyes as she traced the scars lightly with her middle finger, the crudely healed skin tissue forming rivers and lakes across his bare chest. Her brow would furrow. Her lips would twitch. "But she never said a word," Coulson continued. "Not a single question. I knew she wanted to ask, though. I knew it, just as well as she knew I couldn't answer. But the next time I would head out the door for a mission, she would beg me to be careful, and she'd kiss me a littler harder."

Coulson gulped and looked down at his glass, which was now almost empty. "I still remember the kiss before New York," he said quietly, forgetting now that Skye was even listening. "She told me to be careful...I told her I would..." He exhaled a shaky breath and, this time, Skye was certain of the rim of moisture she saw building in his eyes. He brought a fist up and pinned it against his lips, breathing noisily against his knuckles for a few breaths, fighting so hard to keep that line from snapping somewhere deep within him. "As I was laying there, listening as Fury tried to order me to live, the only thing I could think of was, that...Alys was going to be so pissed when I came home with a new scar." He tried to smile, but the small smirk lacked its usual presence, so he let it drop back into a soft frown. "Guess I got out of that one," he said, lifting the glass to his lips once more and draining what liquid was left.

Skye bit her lip in an effort to not cry. She had never seen Coulson like this before, and it was breaking her heart. She couldn't help but grieve for this poor woman, too. She would have had no way of knowing that she would lose Coulson the moment that door closed. And the worst part was, she hadn't really lost him...but she would never know that. Not if S.H.I.E.L.D. had anything to say about it. If Skye had not already been flooded with intense sympathy from Coulson's story, that sympathy would have likely been replaced with a generous dose of anger and indignation. But at that moment, all she could really think about was the unabashed anguish in Coulson's face, and the building pressure of her own tears wanting to spill out.

With a subtle gulp, she composed herself and tried to brighten the conversation once again. "She sounds like a really wonderful woman," Skye said sincerely with a slow nod.

For the first time in several long minutes, Coulson looked over at Skye. "She was," he affirmed gratefully, nodding in return.

Skye couldn't quite bring herself to smile yet, but she gave a little something that was close and asked, "Where is she now?"

"She lives in Portland, Oregon. Works as the principal cellist for the Oregon Symphony Orchestra. But she's in Pittsburg right now, wrapping up a brief tour on the east coast." Coulson gave a small, sheepish smile. "I sort of keep tabs," he confessed.

Skye returned the smile now. For some reason, that revelation didn't surprise her in the slightest. "Don't you ever think about swinging by with the bus?"

"Are you kidding?" Coulson responded. "I think about it constantly." He stood and walked around to the back of the bar, taking his empty glass and rinsing it in the small sink. "But it can never happen," he finished, proud of the composure he now showed. "Like I said, it's best if she just thinks I'm gone."

The young hacker just sat there in silence after that. There was no doubt. This man was in love. Skye had been in a lot of relationships before, and a few of them were even pretty serious. But sitting there, hearing Phil Coulson describe this woman, Skye saw a new definition of that little four letter word she thought she knew once. She wondered if there would ever be a man who could describe her like this, with that soft, diligent tone of affection in his voice and that unwavering twinkle of love in his eyes.

As she watched him clean and dry the glass, and return both it and the bottle of brandy to their respective locations, one thing became undoubtedly clear to Skye. It was going to be time for the bus to make a trip to the west coast very soon.

* * *

There you have it, chapter two. The next chapter should be up soon. Please feel free to leave a review. Let me know if you liked this or didn't, and sharing why is always helpful as well.

**Author's Note:** The character of Alys Simon is by far one of the greatest original characters in the Marvel fanfiction universe, and I do not hesitate in the slightest to admit that I did not create her. She is used here with the permission of her creator, ConcertiGrossi. If you'd like to read more about Alys Simon, and learn the back-story between her and Coulson, I would strongly encourage you to read ConcertiGrossi's Avengers fic, "Second Fiddles." Chapters 1-5 of that story are the imagined history behind this story. Reading it isn't necessary for reading this story, but it might give you a good context for this and later chapters. And beyond all of that, it's just a fabulous read. I'd encourage you all it give it is a look sometime soon. And once again, a massive thanks to ConcertiGrossi for sharing her character with me.


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